


Look Up

by annabagnell



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Breathplay, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-06
Updated: 2016-08-06
Packaged: 2018-07-29 15:55:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7690642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annabagnell/pseuds/annabagnell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Don’t you dare,” John had said when Sherlock’s phone rang. “We might not get to do this again and I swear, Sherlock Holmes, if you answer that call I’ll strangle you.” </p>
<p>“Is that so?” Sherlock asked, a gleam in his eye, and picked up the phone.</p>
<p>-----</p>
<p>Written during Camp Baker Street as a flash fic challenge in 15 minutes!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Look Up

“Could you be more specific?” Sherlock asked, the poor connection cracking up as Sally breathed into the phone out of frustration. “I can’t tell you where he’s hidden the - oh, fuck - trowel if you don’t tell me how the shelves are set up and the contents thereof.”

 

“What, did you trip?” Sally sneered, clearly more hung up on Sherlock’s delivery than the actual words he said.

 

Sherlock sighed. “No, I did not trip,” he said, then hesitated - Sally was not a dull woman, and if John followed through on his promise… she’d connect the dots before long. “Hurry up, either send photos or paint a word picture.” He huffed at the turn of phrase.

 

John gave a hard suck, and Sherlock’s eyes rolled for a different reason.

 

“Alright, fine. There’s four shelves on the left side, and a circular saw underneath the bottom one. Loads of sawdust, some kind of dust collector. Mostly weed killer and other gardening chemicals - sulphur, you know - on the bottom shelf. Boxes of - I don’t know, bolts? On the other ones. Some spare wood, looks like. What are you doing that you can’t come look at it yourself?” she asked, clearly tired of playing errand boy for the consulting detective.

 

“I told you, I’m otherwise occupied,” Sherlock said, glancing down between his legs. John was looking up at him, the gaze clearly a warning, and Sherlock swallowed hard. “Keep going, I haven’t got enough details yet.”

* * *

 

They’d set aside this time for themselves earlier in the day, when Mary grabbed her suitcase to head off to her sister’s for the weekend. There was some kind of implicit permission she’d given before she left, telling him to ‘enjoy himself’ and leaving a box of condoms on the table next to his phone, which coincidentally had just buzzed with a text from Sherlock. John took it to heart and told Sherlock. The detective was there within the hour.

 

“Don’t you dare,” John had said when Sherlock’s phone rang. “We might not get to do this again and I swear, Sherlock Holmes, if you answer that call I’ll strangle you.”

 

“Is that so?” Sherlock asked, a gleam in his eye, and picked up the phone.

 

* * *

 

“The right side of the garden shed. More storage, I assume?” Sherlock asked, ignoring John’s hand squeezing his ribs. “Check inside something. Under another saw, a routing table, somewhere not immediately visible.”

 

“You think we haven’t looked _under_  everything?” Sally replied, exasperated. “That’s rule number one in training - look underneath anything you can.”

 

John pulled off Sherlock’s cock and glared at the slimmer man, then climbed up his body and put both hands on his shoulders, thumbs pressing at the dip between his collarbones. Sherlock’s eyes followed, going wide with fear and anticipation, then opened even wider and inhaled sharply. “Look UP!” he said, nearly dropping the phone as John’s thumb pressed down.

 

“Look up?” Sally’s voice came through a little quieter, like she was craning her head upwards but holding the phone in the same place. “Hopkins, light up - on the ceiling - oh my god, there it is,” she breathed. Sherlock didn’t.

 

“Is there blood on it?” Sherlock said, his voice thin and raspy. “Should be - on the edge -“

 

“Yes, there is, and some just - eurgh, some just dripped onto the floor. Fresh. Suppose we’ve got our murderer, then,” she said, sounding disgusted. “Seriously, freak, you coming down with something? You sound like you’re being choked.”

 

John’s thumb was pressing down hard enough on Sherlock’s windpipe that the man could hardly draw breath at all. He was hard as a rock despite the lack of oxygen, looking at John slightly panicked. He pulled the phone from his ear. “Solved it,” he gasped, his voice barely more than a harsh whisper. “Just let me —“ His voice and breath ran out, and he went rigid under John, struggling to shake off the irked doctor and get a good breath.

 

“Freak?” came a tinny voice, and Sherlock’s eyes strained toward the phone which was held in a trembling hand. “You still there? We’ve already got him in custody, so no more legwork needed. Just paperwork for you tomorrow. Holmes?” she asked after a pause, but got no answer. The line went dead moments after a truly strangled groan echoed hollowly down the line.

 

Sherlock, with the last of his power, had swiped his thumb over the red ‘end call’ button just as John reached behind him and wrapped his hand around Sherlock’s iron-hard cock, stroking once, twice - and Sherlock, somehow, went even more stiff as he came all over John’s hand and wrist. The doctor released his grip on Sherlock’s throat and the detective sawed in a ragged, desperate breath, some of the color returning to his pale cheeks as he gasped for air.

 

“I told you I’d choke you,” John said, and Sherlock believed him.


End file.
